There's a heaviness that I can taste in the air
that keeps me from ever falling asleep. I squeeze my hand
tight into a shaking fist until I can really feel the blood
in my arms rushing and I remember, I know the sound
of the voice in my dreams, know it won't ever change
even if I strain until I pass out. It whispers all through the night.

I always regret when I'm alone at night.
my mind wanders in the dark and tries to fill the air.
I wonder selfish things like “when will this change?”
I crave an english girl and the tenderness of her hand
on the back of my neck and her lips in my ear. The sound
of her words would strike my heart and send a rush of blood

through my whole fucking body, a rush of blood
that would ignite my mind and now I can't sleep at night.
It burns like fuel, I can see the fumes off the sound
of her words. They hang like clouds of smoke in the air.
Smoke that doesn't fade with a breath or a swipe of the hand.
It lingers, uninvited, like a worm in my brain, halting any potential change.

There's an conflicted feeling down within me that loves and hates change.
My lungs get tight and I fight each breath and I feel the blood
in my arms burn as my heart desperately tries to stop my hands
from betraying my elated and defenceless mind in the late hours of night.
But if I want to live in peace I have to try and love the air
I breathe forever, through the pain and the constant sound

With hard work and deliberate actions I can block the sound
and I believe that this is the direction I must take if I am to bring change
It won't matter where I go, the scent of the life I had will remain in the air
I smell memories and that is probably what brings the heat into my blood.
It is time to decide to move on and stop feeding on the past at night
I won't give up on dreams of love but from now on I'll hold my life in my own hand

When I succeed and I see past this darkness it will have been at my hand
I won't hurt myself trying to wait for the distraction of a different sound
but focus instead on seeking rest for my head when I sleep at night.
Till our paths cross again years from now and I can see all the change
with my own eyes, then perhaps she will again feel the longing in her blood
and I'll be the one leaving her to fend off regret like wolves biting at the air

The problem I face won't leave overnight and I expect my hand
will grow sore from squeezing air all the time. But I will come to love this sound,
when I can appreciate the change it brought within me as much as my bones and my blood.